The Delaware ledger. (Newark, Del.) 1879-19??, 1887-02-12
THE OLD HOUSE.

NIlO mas IOl Huu personal eA Aperlellce
on the subject, knows what a regu-
lar New Hampshire snow storm
means.
A cloud of flying needles sharply
puncturing your face, a wind keen
as the edge of any cimetar, white,
binding veil separating you from
the rest of the world-these are some
of the signs and symptoms.
And Edgar Everly felt them in
their most merciless mood, as he
stood helplessly ON the edge of IL
mountain cliff, staring around him
in vain search of some familiar land
mark.
81 am lostl" said he. EXACTLY
and it serves me right. 1t strikes
me that | had better have staid at
home and faced Kathleen Valen-
tine party, after all"
For, to be frank with the reader,
Mr.. Everly had ANONYMOUSLY re-
treated before his sisters gay Valen-
tine reception, to the great grief Of
the half dozen pretty young girls
who were sojourning in the house
"Do stay, Ned" pleaded Kath-
leen Everly, almost with tears in her
eyes.
"Stuif and nonsense" the young
man had returned. "a man is al
ways at a disadvantage on such oc-
casions as this. And | never was a
worshipper of old st. Valentine.
Besides, I've often wondered what
those Signal Service fellows did with
themselves up on the top of the
mountain in winter time. They say
they're an awfully jolly set of chaps,
if once you can get at 'em."
"Oh, Edgar, you will certainly be
lost" said his mother, in a panic.
81! Lost ON Silver Peak! That
is II good one!' cried out Everly.
Wasn't | born and bred under its
very shadow ? | wonder what you
will be saying next, you feminines!'
But the unconsciously uttered pre-
diction had come true.
He was, truly and actually, lost
on Silver Peak. 10 one was alto
gether safe in such Il bewildering
snow-storm as this. 1t was moi
such an extraordinary circumstance
if only he had made allowance foi
it.
But as he groped blindly with his
stick, vaguely fearful lest he shoul(
be precipitated into some unMthom
able abyss below, the ferule came il
contact with a rude stone wall th'
bleating of young calves reached hii
ear.
"Aha!" he cried, exultingly NOV
| know where | am. 1t is the Ole
House, where Farmer Eastwood
keeps his calves"
The "Old House" was a ruineC
farm-dwclling, built long ago for tn,
temporary accommodation of somt
old settler, who had abandoned it al
soon as possible for more commodi
us quarters.
1t stood on the edge of IL scrubby
thicket of pines and cedars, and NJ
one ever came nearit who could hell
themselves.
But the owner-one Mr.. Eastwood
a prosperous farmer, who lived on Il
sunny plateau halfway down tn,
mountain-frequently used it fol
the accommodation of his hocks anC
herds when the home barnyardi
were full.
My bovine friends" said Everly
regaining his spirits at once, 81 an
sorry to disturb you, but l am as {
great calf as yourselves upon thii
unfortunate occasion, and shelte
of any sort is as important to me al
it is to you"
And feeling his way to the low
doorway, from which the porcl
had long since mouldered away, hi
entered the old House.
Originally it had consisted of two
rooms, in the smaller of which thre,
or four specklcd calves We're shut
and Everly looked disconsolatel,
around him, standing in the large
apartment.
"Onewould freeze to death here :
said he. "Once more | will seel
the help of the bovines."
And opening the rude pine door
he snugged himself down among tn
calves, thankful to share in thei
warmth, as he wrapped his cap
close about his shoulders"
"Hail fellows well met" though
he. "If they were gypsies or br
gands now, there might be som'
thing sentimental in the whole Il
fair. But--calves! Well, may t
well go to sleep. The danger {
freezing is over now.n